Breaking Bad Power Rankings: Granite State

These final episodes of Breaking Bad coincide with my return to University and the concomitant ransom of my free time at the hands of masked, threatening lecturers. But while I may have more pressing responsibilities, and while it might be smarter to just let it go – much like Walter White, sometimes you start something that you just have to finish.

Let’s get cooking.

Mr Lambert

Alone in the despair cabin. Walter looks around the cold, indifferent wooden coffin that is to be Heisenberg’s mausoleum. A weak fire burns in the corner of the room, the sparse bedclothes covering the small cot offer little warmth and less comfort. A deer head on the wall hosts a used iv bag containing the last drips of cytotoxic drugs. The deer’s eyes leer accusingly, accentuating the lack of humanity that so defines this place.

Walt’s eyes drift to the two oversized boxes of Ensure Plus which serve only to remind him of his withering frame and inevitable death and then to the paltry wood burning stove which… can still be used to cook.

To cook.

Suddenly Walter White courses with energy, with purpose and springs into action. He grabs the first box of ensure and moves toward the stove, knowing how to proceed. For some reason he feels like he can hear Dr. Dre’s Nuthin but a G Thang, or maybe it’s a sparky instrumental guitar track, or a cool indie song no one’s heard yet. Regardless of what it is, Walter scrambles through drawers with a frighteningly purposeful alacrity, sending utensils flying all around as some sort of tune pumps over it all.

He cracks the lids off of Ensure after Ensure, pouring the thick saccharine contents into a large bowl. It almost feel s like an out of body experience at this point. Like Walter is watching himself, often from bizarre angles like beneath the pot that he’s stirring or from the perspective of the Ensure bottles themselves but in the end, he finishes a very long and scientifically questionable task in what seems like barely any time at all.

“Finished!” He exclaims, his lungs rasping of their own accord.

Walt slips these altered, dangerous diet drinks into a package addressed to a Mr Jack Welker and mails his devious plan into motion.

*A fortnight later, in the Himmler Memorial Junkyard Compound

“What the fuck is this old lady drink shit!?” Shouts the random whitetrash mercenary as he dumps the package into the garbage without a first thought.

*Two months later, after a lot of waiting and contemplation on the folly of hubris at despair cabin

Walt wipes his tired eyes and then directs them around the room. They dart between the Hank sized cash barrel and the empty ensure delivery box.

“Alright… plan B”

The Amazing Pinkman: Escapologist Extraordinaire

Yes, Mr White did once poison a child just as a move. And maybe Mr White is (arguably) responsible for killing the love of your life. However: that boy is still alive, and while he was once again used as a piece on the old Heisenboard, Walter only intended to use him as bait to lure you out rather than trade on his life to bend you to his will. And again, while he (ARGUABLY) killed your girlfriend, he didn’t walk up to her door like a deranged (more deranged) Jehovah’s witness then pop her in the back of the head JUST AS A MOVE to get you back onboard for a life of enforced servitude which is actually very much in line with the Team Nazi philosophy.

So Jesse, perhaps Heisnenbergs loose moral code, lie spirals and life shattering pride is actually the lesser of these two evils. You know, in the face of actual evil, by which I of course mean the face Todd pulled after he had a sip of that posh Stephen Fry tea. It’s hard to be more evil than Nazi’s, I don’t think even Walter White is that far gone yet.

So maybe swallow some of your own misgivings along with that Ben & Jerry’s and reunite the Pinky and the Brain team for one last big cook and make sure it’s Uncle Jack catching a facefull of red phosphorus and Todd getting melted down by acid looking like the end of fucking Raiders of the Lost Arc.

At this point you’re no longer doing it for her, so the options are do it for one last MAGNETS BITCH burst of vengeance or do it to see one last game of Sonic Riders.

The many creepy faces of Psycho Todd

Uncle Jack’s DVD collection

Mr Magoriums wonder emporium

Crybaby Rat

Heat

300

White Lightning

Gator

Hooper

American History X

Romper Stomper

Finding Nemo

Quantum Leaping Saul Goodman

“If you would step right here on this blue spot, leave your luggage where it is for the moment.”

NO!

80’s Goodman, resembling the perfect specimen of a decade of superficiality and depravity, looks down at the scene of a beaten frumpy old has been with the world’s worst toupee with disgust. He thrusts an angry finger at the screen of a bizarre PDA like device to no avail, the grim scene it displays refuses to change.

“Crap!” 80’s Goodman barks back. “We should never have taken that left turn at Albuquerque!”

“Beliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiize…”

The duo fade into nothingness to the tune of Spandau Ballet’s Gold as their timeline collapses.

Out in the great beyond, Ghost Gus looks on with indifference and adjusts his tie.

Flynn White

We saw Flynn take on the traits of his crazy old Aunt Marie here, what with his “WHY AREN’T YOU DEAD YET” rhetoric, but what we didn’t see was him manipulating his father’s notoriety and styling himself as the high school’s head honcho. The little shit wielded his father’s legacy like a spoon, munching down on his enemies like so many coco pops and frosted flakes.

This behaviour, coupled with his refusal to watch Heat with Hank cement Flynn as Breaking Bad’s most ruthless and irredeemable monster.

Ken Wins

Emerges menacingly from a closet in a secluded cabin in the woods. The room is empty.

“Where the fuck is he! Where the fuck are WE!?”

“Uuuh, New Jersey…” whimpers a disposable gunman before a silenced pistol shot puts him down.

“FUCK”

Optimistic DEA Agent

Agent optimism steps forward tentatively, pointing his pistol out in front of him, searching for a target. His feet crunch on pieces of the broken Schrader home. He stoops low and grasps at a shard of a blu ray copy of Heat. His face grimaces and contorts into an expression of pure pain and disbelief.

“We’re gonna get these animals…”

Ted Beneke

The newly rejuvenated Ted Beneke steps out of his porche and into the dry New Mexico heat. The sun catches in his designer shades and the wind billows through his exquisitely tailored suit which matches the metallic shine of his re-grown hair.

Back on his feet and back in action, Ted strides along the driveway on the way to visit his Godson. He was the only person to ever come to see him after the accident, other than that gloating bitch Skyler, and so Ted intends to return the favour with a trip in the BMW to pick up some college girls and, failing that, some whores.

Ted stops, suit shoes clicking on the concrete. There’s something familiar on the doorstep. An ensure box? That’s odd. He picks it up and examines the label.